


a change of heart

by incubvs



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homoeroticism, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Polyamory, Shared Bedrooms, Slow Burn, adrian's dumb feelings and his internalized denial of attraction for his new friends, alucard POV, not-so-subtle flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-08-16 16:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16499051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incubvs/pseuds/incubvs
Summary: Along the journey to Dracula’s castle where any number of horrors and possibly even death await them, not only does the heroic trio of legend find misfortune, adventure, and friendship – but acceptance, comfort, and even romance as well.





	1. An Introduction to the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: all i know about castlevania is what i've seen from the netflix show, the very small amount of symphony of the night that i've played, and reading over character wikis, but i hope you enjoy this anyway! it's gonna have a lot to do with feelings and possibly even a rating change in the future. it's poly, because there is never quite enough poly castlevania content to satiate my NEEDS and fill the void s2 left me with. adrian is silently pining for both sypha and trevor, trevor doesn't know what to do with his sudden attraction to vampires, and sypha pokes fun at both of them for being hopelesssly gay. it's gonna be great.

                The pair of humans who stand before him are not what Adrian expected from how the prophecies painted them as: powerful, skilled, and unwavering beacons of hope in times of great suffering for the people of Wallachia, standing proud and victorious in the aftermath of a battle for the ages. Depicted in stained glass as glorious and unyielding, the unassuming sight of the two of them leaves him feeling utterly _underwhelmed_.

                His eyes find the girl – hardly a woman, more of a teenager – noticing the cropped, bouncy copper curls framing her lovely rounded face, a radiant dust of rose pink blossoming across her full cheeks boasting her youth. Her appearance gives Adrian the estimate of her age: a tender young creature of only 19 or 20 years. She is adorned in modest cobalt robes – ones that Adrian recognizes as being a Speaker’s. The girl’s brilliant blue eyes shine in amazement as she meets his gaze, her lips forming hurried, hushed whispers cast to the lumbering male at her side who only responds with grunts of acknowledgement.

                The very same male in question stares daggers at Adrian, one hand twitching at his side for the hilt of a whip, though the dhampir’s eyes do not linger on it for long, instead tracing the outline of the symbol adorning his chest. In rich, shimmering gold, the Belmont family crest is stitched lovingly into his otherwise-dirty tunic. _A Belmont,_ Adrian mentally notes. _And a Speaker. The Hunter, and the Scholar._ Despite how his mind tells him to fear and loathe the offspring of his kind’s enemy, he can’t help but notice how the rugged, yet handsome looks of the man exude an air of battle-hardened, yet exhausted temperament and the grip of pity now digs its wretched claws into his heart. _A scorned and exiled Belmont, the last in his line,_ Adrian corrects his own thoughts as he gives the man a lingering examination. _Truly something to be feared._

“The Sleeping Soldier,” The Speaker interjects his thoughts, her voice light like a bell. “The story… it’s true! The savior who will bring forth an end to Dracula’s wrath!”

                “And you? Are you here in search of some mythical savior or messiah to turn the tides of war?” Adrian inquires toward the Belmont, flicking his eyes from the excited and youthful girl to the gruff, tired man likely slaughtering the dhampir in his mind.

                A smug smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he practically scoffs at the question, clearly amused in a way that insisted he wasn’t taking this seriously. “I fell down a hole,” he admits dryly, causing a disdainful look to grace Adrian’s delicate, noble features.

                “Dracula must be stopped,” Sypha changes her tone, a very serious expression on her face. “His army of monsters are advancing, and he has made it his personal mission to wipe all traces of humanity off the face of Wallachia. We need your help.”

                “What do you believe?” Adrian curiously prods, silently hoping for another classless comment.

                “I damned well _know_ that Dracula has released his army of hell spawn onto the land. That much is a fact. I don’t need to ‘believe’ shit, it’s already happening just outside these walls,” Belmont replies coolly. “But I know that you’re asking about something else. You want to know if I believe that you’re some savior of mankind. And the answer is _no_ , I _don’t_.”

                “Belmont!” the Speaker has a disciplinary tone in her voice, as if she’s already gotten used to this behavior from him.

The Belmont though, seems to have already made his decision about the half-breed floating several feet off the ground, a leather whip now tightly enclosed in one white-knuckled fist. Civility has flown out the window in the time Adrian has been asleep, it seems. Bad blood never truly dries.

                “I know what you are,” he says, his voice now growing dark. “And it is _not_ a messiah.”

                “And what am I?” Adrian muses, a wicked smile now taking his expression.

                “You’re a vampire,” The Belmont grits his teeth, setting his sharp, strong jaw and narrowing his eyes as he takes the whip in both hands, clutching the grooved handle in one with the other palm cradling the length of it as if presenting a gift to the dhampir. _Vampire Killer,_ Adrian feels his chest well in rage, knowing the atrocities that weapon had committed against his kin. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of vampires had been struck down by that whip and he was not about to add to the body count by rolling over and exposing his stomach to the disgraced last son of a once-great family.

                “So now I have this question for you: have we come down here to find the man who will defeat Dracula, or have we stumbled into Dracula’s lair itself?” The hunter slurs out.

                Adrian, offended by this, straightens himself and repeats him slowly. “ _Dracula._ Do you refer to me as _Dracula_?”

                “Do you prefer _leech?”_ he asks, a proud smile now on his face, the word rolling from his lips as if it were a curse, a knowing prayer for damnation.

                The dhampir ignores the insult, instead addressing what he can now confirm as fact. “And she called you Belmont, of the noble family. They did hunt creatures of the night, did they not? They killed demons, monsters, and vampires.”

                “We did up until Wallachia’s kind people of the cloth decided to accuse us of dealing in black magic and ex-communicating and exiling the entire lot of us,” he sneers, some sense of contempt and bitterness behind his words.

                “What does this have to do with the fact that Dracula is sentencing humanity to mass genocide?” Adrian asks. “Do you care? Do you feel the pressure of mankind at all?”

                He pauses, his icy eyes focused on something in the distance, as if memories came flooding back to him. “No. I didn’t. For a while, at least. But now, I believe that there must be an end to this, even if I have to do it myself.”

                “Then what do you think? What power do you have against Dracula?”

                “Honestly, the only thing I can think is that I have to kill you now.”

                “ _Belmont!”_ The Speaker chides in again. “Don’t you understand? He _must_ be The Sleeping Soldier. He is who we have been looking for! He’s been waiting for hundreds of years to awaken and save humanity.”

                “Sypha, look at him, then around you. He’s a fucking vampire, and he hasn’t been waiting here for anyone. This place may seem old, but it works like a perfect machine. There’s electricity, and some sort of modern mechanism. So, parasite, I ask: how long have you really been waiting down here?” He notes as he glances around him at the lamps lighting each marble column in the keep.

                “What is the year?” Adrian asks the robed girl.

                “1476,” she replies.

                “A year,” he concludes.

                “Perfect. See, Sypha? He’s nothing more than a monster– “ the Belmont starts, quickly interrupted by Adrian.

                “I asked if you care. Do you, _Belmont?_ ” He questions further, the same venom in his voice that the hunter had used towards him.

                “What does it matter to you? Yes, I care. What I care about is saving the lives of innocents, bringing an end to this bloodshed, and continuing my family’s wishes. Nothing more than that,” he sighs aloud, preparing an attack position.

                Before Adrian can even retort with some backhanded compliment about what his family would have to say about his behavior and composition, the distinctive, sharp sound of a whip cracking only alerts him to the blunt seriousness of the situation. The Belmont didn’t seem too eager on the prospect of letting him out of this unscathed.

                “Vampires do not save anyone, especially not man. They destroy, pillage, and slaughter. Their kind is only alive to thrive on the destruction of humanity and everything we know _,_ ” The Belmont grumbles at the Speaker looking rather frazzled at his side as if the mere thought of lashing out violently towards Adrian offended her greatly. Despite this, she says nothing and darts a fleeting suspicious glance at the son of Dracula.

                “Well,” begins Adrian with an exasperated sigh. “If it is a fight you are looking for, it is a fight you will receive.” With a wide flourish of his arm towards the recently-opened casket he arose from, his sword rises behind him, the blade singing rapturously as it flashes to his clawed grip in a fraction of a second. The familiar cold handle now in his grasp, he feels _whole_ once again.

                Then, the Belmont, the last remaining son in a bloodline of nobles, lunges.

* * * * *

                After having to be separated from nearly tearing each other’s throats out, Adrian discovers the brutish Belmont is known as Trevor, while the pretty, petite Speaker is called Sypha. The poor girl had borne witness to their spat and was forced to shakily threaten Adrian with her abilities to ensure Trevor’s life was spared under the dhampir’s extended fangs, though his mind lingers on the scent of the Belmont’s life pumping hard through his veins: spirits, earth, and the silvery salt of holy blood.

                For now, Trevor kept his distance, shooting glares and disgusted glances Adrian’s way with so much rage and hatred in his expression that the golden-haired male almost regrets following them out of the safety of his private keep. He could be staked in a matter of minutes in this dangerous man’s presence for all he knows. _Dangerous,_ his mind states plainly. _But nonetheless, skilled. We may even have a chance at victory. They’ll do._

Sypha had bounced off to reunite with her family, consisting of a small crowd of similarly dressed Speakers and give them the good word of “The Sleeping Soldier’s” awakening, leaving Adrian and Trevor alone in the collapsed ruins of some building that seems as if it must have been a home once. Among the rubble are candles burned down to the very end of their wicks, tattered, threadbare quilts, and broken shards of glass glittering in the snow that blankets Gresit’s land. Adrian notes that the city had _certainly_ seen better days, trails of blood splattering along the path and trailing in thick, rust-red shades of gore down alleyways and around corners. His nose scrunches and he toes at some of the blood-drenched earth thoughtfully.

                Trevor eyes him warily, one quill pen in hand as he sits on a fallen beam and furiously takes what Adrian can only assume are notes down in a small, leather-bound book. _Such a large man with such unrefined posture and clumsy, mediocre fighting skills could not possibly be a descendant of the Belmont family line,_ his mind lies to him, though he knows the truth. Trevor is a smart man, adept with a weapon, but it’s evident he was raised around classless drunks.

                Adrian is close enough to see the swooping lines and curves Trevor now draws, his thick brows knitting together as he focuses on the task at hand. The dhampir can’t help but feel out of place and awkward with the silence between the two of them, only the sound of pen tip meeting page and distant city lives picking up from tragedy and moving on. He notes the illustrations of his coffin that Trevor scratches into the pages of the small book, his artistic talents vastly exceeding what Adrian would have pinned on him.

                The man must have noticed the way he eyes his notes and snaps it shut with a sigh, placing the small feather quill back in its holder on the spine of the tattered, well-used book.

                “Alucard,” Trevor begins, obviously trying to keep some sort of emotional distance between himself and Adrian, despite how the dhampir introduced himself with the name his mother had blessed him with and that they are mere hours away from embarking on a journey of life or death. Adrian doesn’t expect to become friends, but a little respect couldn’t hurt in this situation. “I don’t expect you to have any sort of battle plan when it comes to finding and slaying your father, do you? Do you even know where the castle is?”

                Adrian mulls his question over for a moment, one slender hand raised to stroke over his chin. Truth be told, he did not have a plan. He didn’t have much of one when he tried to confront his father the first time, but at least he knows that the man cannot be reasoned with and, therefore, must die.

                “No,” He admits, knowing that this answer may alert some suspicion from Trevor. “I know how the castle conducts itself, how it moves, but my father is not so easily predicted. I suspect that he would not have moved very far from where my mother was killed, so the hoard will likely become thicker and more of an issue to be grappled with as we grow closer to the castle. My plan is to head north to Targoviste; perhaps a month’s journey from here to there.”

                Trevor nods and gives a low hum of thought. “Then tomorrow morning, we leave, but I have a few demands.”

                “And what is that?” Adrian asks, eyeing the Belmont.

                “We first travel back to my home,” he says as he stands, stretching and arching his back with a series of popping sounds after he replaces the book in his ragged burlap bag. “There is knowledge there, in a hidden library. There could be some vital information about Castlevania that we could use to our advantage. Possibly even some weapons or other supplies.”

                “Fair enough. What other _demands_ have you got?” Adrian says. _A smart plan._

                “You stay out of my way, and you don’t even think about talking to Sypha,” He casually remarks, his gaze now turning to the girl in question returning with a small group of other young Speakers. She is laughing with a tanned, dark-haired man who looks at her as if she is all that is good in this world and Adrian cannot blame him. She has a calming energy radiating from her and, in all this doom and destruction, they will need as much of that as they can possibly get. It almost makes the dhampir forget what sort of unspoken threat he has just received from the hunter.

                “Adrian! Trevor!” Sypha calls out to them, flashing a smile as she gestures to the group around her. “Come! The Speakers wish to have some festivities before we depart tomorrow. It is my last night with family and friends, and I wish to enjoy it before we must head out. I want to buy you both a drink.”

                Before either of them can protest the invitation, they are swept up into the merriment and revelry of the Speakers now surrounding them and encouraging them to join with the remainder of the group, a tight cluster of blue robes and grinning faces. Adrian does his best to appear excited and interested in the idea of drinking with several humans as they close in, gentle hands placed on his shoulders and the small of his back, but all he can focus on is the scent of Speaker blood full of power, fire, and the metallic sweetness of wheat ale.

                Adrian silently curses himself for the mere thought, though he can feel Trevor’s eyes boring holes into his back as he walks with them to meet Sypha and the others. His “demands” will have to be put on hold for tonight.


	2. Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That all-too-familiar pity came creeping back once again, for both Sypha and Trevor; poor Sypha searching in the cold for two fools who just can’t play nice for once and poor Trevor who only wanted to be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow updates. i waited until after finals week to write this one. enjoy!

               The tavern the Speakers tended to frequent, a rickety, aged little venue with an unintelligibly faded sign hanging above the door, was a little busier than what they had expected. Laughter, drunken shouts, and song flooded from the doorway into the cold snowy street. A couple, both likely inebriated, were pressed to the wall next to the entrance and engaged in a dizzying kiss. Although a bit sloppy and uncoordinated, both had a deep crimson hue blooming across their noses as they embraced each other. Adrian couldn’t help the sneer as he turned his attention to the ground. _Humans_.

                “Get a room,” Trevor quietly grumbles as he shoulders past Adrian and the couple, stepping into the warm light of the tavern. They seem unaffected by the comment and continue without interruption as Adrian also silently slips past, followed by Sypha and a pair of other Speakers.

                Sypha, ever the adventurer, makes a beeline through the crowd of rowdy patrons and across the area cleared for dancing to the bar where a pretty woman with mahogany curls greets her as if they were old friends, the pair mirroring each other’s smiles. Only a few feet away stood Trevor, already trading shiny silver coin with the barkeep for a pint of ale.

                Adrian, on the other hand, was completely at a loss of how to conduct himself so he, abandoned by the only people he knew there, leaned against the doorframe and watched as paired women and men now glided across the dance floor, stomping, whistling, and shouting along to the music being played by a band of other villagers. Whatever dance being performed was fast-paced, a flurry of flowing dresses and linked hands now circling the room as other regulars sang along. _An old sea shanty,_ Adrian notes, not knowing the words himself but recognizing the language as one his mother had taught him when he was just a boy.

As the song ends, the couples dancing turn to applaud the band, a few patrons even gathering around them to make requests. Adrian mentally debates slipping out into the evening just a matter of steps behind him, but before he can follow through on his decision, a small palm is placed on his shoulder and Sypha now smiles up at him with twin mugs clasped in her other hand.

                “Sorry for leaving you so suddenly. Here you are,” She chirps as she offers him one of the overflowing stein, fresh foam spilling over the lip.

                “Thank you,” he nods as he takes it, giving the drink a tentative (and regrettable) sip. “Do you come here quite often? I wouldn’t have expected you to be one for drinking and celebrating late into the night. I assumed this was more Belmont’s crowd.”

                Her hand slips from his shoulder and she stares down into her drink thoughtfully, a slight smile still playing on her lips as she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “I don’t normally come here, no. I don’t drink much either. This is a treat. We Speakers do not normally indulge like this, but it’s a special occasion: my first time leaving the caravan on my own.” She gestures to the other groups of people talking and laughing amongst each other. “Every other time we’ve come here to celebrate anything, it’s never been this crowded. I suppose business is picking up with more travelers. That makes me hopeful… for the future,” she admits with a timid glance up.

                _Or they wish to live life to the fullest while it still lasts,_ Adrian thinks, but says nothing.

                “Do you dance?” Sypha asks after her confession, quick to change the topic. She turns her gaze back up to him before bringing the mug to her lips to sip at the foam. It was clear in her voice that she did not know how else to communicate with the dhampir, trying to find _something_ in common to give them footing or a place to start. _She’s harder to read, but she’s hopeful and determined, with a kind heart. At least she’s trying._

                “I haven’t in some time,” Adrian tells her. “My mother tried to teach me when I was a young man, but I was never any good at it. Perhaps I was a bit too stiff. Do you?”

                “Oh no, no,” she laughs. “I can’t. I’ve never been very good at dancing, no matter how many times I’ve tried to learn. I can’t deny that I’ve wanted to keep trying, but, like you, I’m just too stiff and too impatient.”

                “Perhaps Belmont knows,” Adrian comments, looking back to where Trevor had been moments before, but now only an empty stool took his place. “A son of a noble family typically learns these things and he’d be a fool to say no.”

                “I have my doubts. I wouldn’t want to learn from him anyway. He’s _rude_ ,” she replies with a scowl twisting her features but as she speaks, she stands on the tips of her toes to peek over the crowd of people in search of the man in question. “Speak of the devil, have you seen him? The last I saw of him, he was haggling the price of some foreign ale with the bartender, even after I told him I’d buy him one, but he disappeared before I could bring it to him. I hope he didn’t run off to get drunk alone.”

                “I’ll find him. Enjoy your party, Sypha. I’ll drag him back here whether he likes it or not,” Adrian gingerly places a practiced hand on her shoulder to reassure her. She, in turn, thanks him with a soft smile and he excuses himself.

                _Belmont, you beautiful bastard._ Adrian sighs with relief, glad to grab at the chance to disappear in the night. Still gripping the stein he might have to use as an offering to the hunter, he steals away into the young evening.

* * * * *

                Adrian finds Trevor hiding himself away from the excitement, just outside where the sound of music can reach. The Belmont had snuck away from the celebration and was drinking the last remainder of some unlabeled bottle of ale in the snow, his fur-lined coat draped across his shoulders as he sits in the stairway leading up to a long-evacuated home. As he approaches, Adrian can see Trevor’s head is leaned against the wooden handrail as he stares down into his bottle with an unreadable expression.

                “What do you want, _vampire_?” Trevor spits on the ground before Adrian’s feet without even looking up from his drink. _Excellent start to a conversation._

                “Nothing. I’m hiding, the same as you,” he answers as he stops in front of him and offers the brimming stein.

                “Don’t compare us,” he spits back, snatching the pint from his grasp. “We are not the same, and I am _not_ hiding.”

                Adrian says nothing for a moment, lost in the thought that Trevor had been conditioned to hate him. He hasn’t had the chance to learn that not all vampires are consumed with bloodlust, thus Adrian was nothing other than emotionless pawn in his eyes. It would hurt if it wasn’t partially the truth. He had always been too distant and too cold to relate to humans, a curse given to him by his father, but he was too compassionate and thoughtful to truly get along with vampires either, a blessing given by his mother. He had no place to belong, no one else truly like him.

                Except Trevor.

                Trevor was different. He, like Adrian, was made hard by the cruelties of the world and how the church casts away all those that differ in the divine judgement of “God’s all-seeing eyes.” Hell, Adrian could even recall when the Belmonts were excommunicated from the church and their home burned down to its bones when he was just a small boy. His mother had shed tears over the loss of human life, a memory trapped in vivid detail in his mind. Not because she mourned the loss of his kind’s enemy, but because he had felt such great sorrow for the Belmont family that day and for his mother who clutched a handkerchief and wept in their name despite what they did to creatures of the night. There had been children in that estate the night of the fire, Trevor’s siblings and he was a mere boy when it occurred as well. The church knew no forgiveness for so-called sinners. Yes, _this_ must be the reason there was some part of Adrian that wanted to prove to the hunter that he was different from other vampires, that he wasn’t heartless, that he could be just as human as he was, but how could he? In Trevor’s mind, he’s still some monster driven by the insatiable desire to feed. Why did it matter so much to him anyway? Proving himself to a Belmont? Unheard of. _So many questions._

                Adrian, locked in his own internal debate, eyed Trevor as he kept his stare focused on the ground, snowflakes caught in his dark hair, the fur lining of his coat, and collecting on the tips of his eyelashes. There was something lovely about him, a certain softness in the way his hair was haloed by the evening sky colored with midnight blue and ash grey as his light eyes mirrored the white of fresh snow falling to the earth, though Adrian wouldn’t dare share these thoughts.

                “Aren’t you cold?” Adrian couldn’t feel much of the chill himself, following Trevor’s gaze and prodding a gloved finger down into the unbothered snow on the handrail.

                “I’ll live,” He responds distantly, likely wishing that the dhampir prince just leave him alone. He had a look of annoyance in his features, but there was an underlying loneliness that Adrian couldn’t just ignore.

                “Tell me why you’ve run from the gathering. I assumed you would enjoy this sort of thing: drinking, dancing, and the like. Have I gotten the wrong impression from you, Belmont?”

                “Listen, I don’t need a fucking _half-breed_ to check up on me in some pathetic attempt to drag me back to some ‘party’ I didn’t want to attend in the first place. Those Speakers made me a deal and they’ve already disregarded it in favor of getting drunk and losing precious travel time, but little do they know, these hours wasted could make the difference between life or death!” Trevor snaps with his fingers tightening around the handle of the mug before he takes a generous gulp, clearly regretting how he admitted his troubles to the vampire so easily.

                A beat of time passes. Then another.

                “How noble of you,” Adrian finally concludes after a silence that stretches on like two lands split by sea. The Belmont wasn’t as egotistical and self-absorbed as he originally thought. “You’re concerned for them. Though I believe your anger is misplaced, as it’s better not to travel through snowfall.”

                Trevor only exhales, his breath visible in the chilly winter evening as the little remainder of daylight that peeks through the clouds is beginning to suffocate on the horizon. The way his jaw tightens tells Adrian that he hadn’t considered how the weather would affect travel conditions.

                “I am concerned,” he mumbles, not even daring to look up but the tone in his voice has grown tender. “I promised Sypha’s grandfather I’d keep her safe when we leave, but it’s all bullshit if he doesn’t even survive. When I met them, I demanded they leave to ensure their safety and they kept ignoring my warnings like they have some kind of fucking death wish. I don’t think they quite realize that we are fighting a war that could be the end of humanity as we know it.” His eyes finally meet Adrian’s in a steel gaze. “My family wanted mankind to win, and that’s why this is so important to me. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing telling _you_ all this, but…”

                Trevor’s voice died slow, but it was easy to tell things still weighed heavy on his mind and it made something inside Adrian feel guilty, perhaps about the misconceptions regarding the Belmont family. They were only humans after all, frightened of the dark. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he understood Trevor better when he was drunk and his carefully cultivated mask grew soft.

                “We are all slaves to our family’s wishes,” Adrian agrees.

                Trevor snorts. “Obviously you aren’t. We are actively planning your father’s demise.”

                “Perhaps I am not slave to what my father wills of me, but I do know what my mother would have wanted and this certainly wasn’t it. My father died the day my mother did; he is not the same man I once knew and he has proven that he cannot be reasoned with. In the end, it must come to his death,” the dhampir swallows the deep knowing fear clawing at the back of his mind that told him _no, **no** , you cannot kill your father. You cannot bring yourself to do such a thing, but you must, for Mother. This Belmont cannot even begin to fathom the depth of sorrow and sadness that comes with the task of killing one’s own father, therefore he does not know how truly sharp his tongue is._

Yet he says nothing, the loneliness in his eyes conveying something resembling pity, sympathy even. Even _that_ is only temporary and his softer edges have turned razor sharp once again.

                “You know? It’s funny that you think I care,” he shakes his head with a forced chuckle.

                “What I think is ‘ _funny’_ is that instead of being where you are wanted and invited, you’re isolating yourself just to sulk and complain about how things aren’t going the way you want them to. I didn’t come out here to search for you because I wanted to.” _A lie._ “I came because Sypha didn’t want you to leave. Grow _up_ , Belmont. You don’t have to continue being alone, but if this is truly the hill you wish to die on, be my guest,” Adrian retorts, though there is no real venom in his tone. There is very little that Adrian knows about him, but these are the facts: Trevor is a human, can connect with others, but simply chooses to be alone. The dhampir couldn’t make that connection if he tried, and yet, Trevor was sitting here, alone, drinking himself half-blind and insulting those who dare try to offer him support.

                The hunter remained quiet, a hardened and disconnected glare leaving Adrian wondering if he went a bit too far. The silence between them was like a wall and it was only filled by the sound of footsteps crunching over fresh snow, Trevor’s fingers drumming over the side of his wooden mug, and Adrian’s slowed heartbeat in his ears like a rush of waves meeting the shore.

                “Where have you been?” comes Sypha’s voice from behind Adrian and he can only assume she followed his boot prints left behind. When they both turn to face her, she has her hands placed on her hips as if she were a disapproving mother scolding her two disobedient sons, yet the red tint displayed on her rounded cheeks and the tip of her nose tell the dhampir that she’s been looking for them for far too long and her robes weren’t nearly enough to shield her from the biting winter. “You couldn’t even stay for a minute? You couldn’t pretend to be friendly just for one night? You had to run away?”

                That all-too-familiar pity came creeping back once again, for both Sypha and Trevor; poor Sypha searching in the cold for two fools who just can’t play nice for once and poor Trevor who only wanted to be left alone.

                Trevor doesn’t offer her any explanation, just keeping his gaze low and Adrian finds himself looking to Sypha, whose anger seems to die fast as she wraps her arms around herself to keep warm. She settles in the empty space next to the hunter on the step and exhales, her breath curling into a fine mist.

                “I guess I can’t blame you… I forced you both into that situation, and you hardly even know me or my family. I didn’t offer you any choice, so I don’t have any right to be upset at you for running off. They hardly even noticed when I snuck off so, maybe now would be a good time to get some bonding in,” she gives a smile, though it’s obvious in her voice that the weather was getting to her. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, so we may as well act like friends.”

                The way she worded it made it seem as if it was a burden to be trapped between the two sons of quarreling families, but Adrian could see the sparkle of wanderlust in her eye. She _longed_ for adventure, for stories to tell, and that there was an excitement for the journey that she was trying to hide. She was a young woman, vibrant, and full of life, and there was no doubt that she’d had somewhat of a sheltered life being the granddaughter of an Elder Speaker, so it’s possible that she does not know the cross she bears.

                “We don’t have to be friends,” Trevor says, turning his eyes on her. “None of us do. This is a job, not some dainty walk through the fucking woods. Sypha, do you have any idea how powerful Dracula is? You could die. _Hell_ , we could all die. For all we know, we might not even have a sliver of a chance at victory.” Despite the severity of his words, he still removes his ratty old fur-lined coat and drapes it over her shoulders to give some shield from the wind now whistling through the barren trees. _He contradicts himself,_ Adrian can’t help but notice. It was little, sure, but he seemed to already have a soft spot for the girl.

                “Of course I know we could die; my entire family is well aware of Dracula’s might and what I’ve gotten myself into, but that’s what the prophecy is about, Belmont. Be a little more optimistic,” she tightens the coat around herself and buries her face in the fur, though her features twist at the smell ever so faintly. “What were you two arguing about before I stepped in?” comes her muffled voice.

                “Nothing,” Trevor thumbs the lip of the stein, leaning back on his elbows. “Alucard was trying to convince me to come back to the tavern upon your request. That’s all. And for the record, I’m not going back there. I won’t continue my family’s tradition of drunkenly fighting a Speaker.”

                “I won’t make you,” Sypha laughs, amused with the image of some unfortunate Speaker tasked with a stumbling Belmont taking swings at them. “Can we at least decide where we’ll be staying tonight? The Speaker’s home was destroyed, _Belmont,_ ” She shoots the hunter a playful glare, though the look in her eyes speaks of some respect for him. “There’s a small inn near the tavern, but my people have taken up the rooms. Lucky for us, we won’t be homeless for the night: Grandfather has arranged for us to stay in the barn behind the tavern. I’m told there’s a furnace in one of the upstairs calf nursery stalls, along with a pair of cots we’ll have to share.”

_“A pair?_ You’re fucking with me,” Trevor begins to whine, though Adrian raises a hand to silence him and the hunter scowls in return.

“That’s perfect, Sypha. Two cots for the both of you, and I keep watch for the night,” he shuffles in the snow, already growing impatient with the Belmont’s immaturity. “Thank you. Shall we go then? Neither one of you is fit to be out in this weather and the earlier we sleep, the earlier we can leave come morning. Besides, we don’t want to be caught by demons out in this weather; this storm is getting stronger by the minute. Let’s find some shelter.”

“Back to the tavern?” Trevor raises an eyebrow, his reluctance evident on his face.

“To the barn, actually. I know you don’t want to deal with the bar patrons and the Speakers. I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Sypha corrects him, standing and shrugging his coat off her shoulders before he stops her with one hand. He grips the back of his coat and tugs it up, securing it as he stands. _A silent ‘thank you.’_

“Keep it,” he exhales and stretches, his cheeks slightly tinting pink as he avoids meeting her grateful glance. Either Trevor was a lightweight and his face had flushed from drinking (doubtful), or the Belmont was _blushing._ It was so slight that surely Sypha hadn’t noticed, though Adrian did. He watched in silence as the other man now strides past him through the snow, his arms raised with hands folded behind his head. _Clearly proud of himself,_ Adrian mused.

Sypha was next to depart, hopping through the snow and back onto the cleared path. She beckons the dhampir to follow with a wave of her hand and quickens her pace to catch up with the hunter retreating towards the barn tucked away behind the tavern.

_Odd pair,_ Adrian thinks as he shakes his head and pushes through the snow after the humans that woke him.

_After them. Faster, faster. There is no telling how long they’ll last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this one was worth the wait. there will be more to come soon! happy holidays!


	3. The Same Deep Water As You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor then leans back once again with his long, toned legs crossed and propped on the tiny table, tanned and scarred arms raised with palms cradling his head, and a nonchalant spit to the ground. The lowest part of his shirt collar boasted a sliver of his ample chest and thick, dark hair.  
> Adrian felt the wash of shame and embarrassment rise to his face as he comes to the realization that his eyes have lingered on Trevor for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall thought it was over? that i abandoned this? nah, a bitch is just busy. anyways, when i say slow burn, i mean SLOW. BURN. these mfs arent gonna touch fingertips until chapter 47!!!!!!!!!!!! hope you enjoy, keep an eye out for more in the future!

                 A grunt sounds from Trevor as he pushes the barn doors open against the weight of the snow now piling up against the bottom of the gate. Sypha steps in, her nose wrinkling at the pungent scent of stale air and old hay bundled next to the stalls where the horses _would_ have been kept. She conjures a small ball of fire between her fingers to light their way into the dark. Adrian follows, scanning the first floor and spotting the ladder leading to the second level braced against the wall. He raises one hand to shield his sensitive nose from the odor as he parts from the group to examine it.

                “I was told the animals were killed by the hoard. The innkeeper said it was a bloodbath… those poor creatures,” she mournfully thinks aloud as she places a hand on the entrance to a gated enclosure, her sorrowful voice echoing around the empty building creaking with the winds. Her eyes wander over an unlit oil lamp atop a table pushed to a nearby wall, a few crates scattered around it, and a stool meant for milking cows and goats resting on its side. Other than that and the piles of hay, the first level is empty.

                “All of them?” Trevor prods, curious now as he looks to the beams holding the roof up before he can turn his attention back to the door. The heavy wooden entry heaves a sigh of relief as it is pulled closed once more, settling back into its original position.

                “Only a handful were spared by the demons,” she continues, following his line of sight to the ceiling before she moves to the table to light the lamp. As she does so, the warm golden light brightens the otherwise gloomy atmosphere. “I’m also told the survivors were either mortally injured or they had to be killed for food.”

                “Quite the gossip, aren’t you,” The Belmont chuckles and looks toward Sypha, who only responds with an exasperated huff and an eyeroll. “Convenient that the animals aren’t here then. I don’t want some hen laying an egg in my hard-earned bed. Ah, _home_ _sweet_ _home_.”

                “ _Convenient_? Have you no sympathy?” Sypha questions abruptly, a hint of insult in her tone. In the same breath, she shrugs Trevor’s matted fur cloak off and folds it over her arm. The Belmont, in turn, almost looks offended.

                “Now, now,” Adrian mediates, a gloved hand running over the splintering wood of a ladder rung. “Let’s get along. This will be a long trip if we are all at each other’s throats the entire time.”

                “That’s rich coming from you. I’m more worried about _you_ being at my throat than the sheltered granddaughter of an Elder Speaker,” Trevor quips and Adrian has to restrain his annoyance with his jaw clenched as he casts the other man a glare through the golden curtain of curls framing his face.

                “ _Sheltered?_ You are _so_ —” The girl begins, clearly more insulted by his comment than Adrian was. She silences herself and presses her first two fingers to her temple, massaging away the headache that Trevor Belmont was most definitely the cause of. When she speaks again, her tone had softened as if she were already exhausted with the needless fighting. “I beg of you: stop acting this way. Alucard is right; we need to at least try to get along. Can’t we do that instead of bickering and arguing like fools?”

                Trevor doesn’t meet her pleading gaze, running his fingers through his thick hair and scratching the back of his neck… as if he were embarrassed to be scolded. The short silence is filled with the sound of wind whistling through the rickety building and the distant murmur of voices from the tavern still alive with patrons indulging in revelry late into the night.

                The hunter in question stands the milking stool back onto its legs and takes his seat, his back flush to the wall. He mumbles out an insulted “fine,” then reaches into the sleeve of his boot for a small knife. He quickly stabs it into the wood of the makeshift table in front of him, a small uneven thing that supports a half-empty bag of grain for chickens along with the dimly flickering lamp. Trevor then leans back once again with his long, toned legs crossed and propped on the tiny table, tanned and scarred arms raised with palms cradling his head, and a nonchalant spit to the ground. The lowest part of his shirt collar boasted a sliver of his ample chest and thick, dark hair.

                Adrian felt the wash of shame and embarrassment rise to his face as he comes to the realization that his eyes have lingered on Trevor for far too long.

                Funny enough, Trevor looked like the spitting image of an ill-behaved teenager being heckled by his “mother.” At least he was cooperating.

                “Thank you, Belmont,” Sypha says tenderly after a moment, returning his cloak to him by draping it over his lap and perching herself on a crate near him. The way she spoke must have soothed him, as he drops his gaze to the ground and crosses his arms, only painting the picture of a disobedient child more vividly. His posture insists that he was still feeling dismissed, though he softens ever so slightly as she sits with him.

                His attention may be completely orbiting her, but hers was on the petite dagger he had stabbed into the table and she reaches forward to take its short, leather hilt in her palm.

                “Careful,” Trevor warns her as she pries it from the table and examines the blade with an intense concentration and a sparkle of fascination in her bright blue eyes. “It’s sharp. I use it for whittling when I have downtime.”

                Adrian joins them and silently observes over Sypha’s shoulder while she runs her fingers over the engraving along the spine. “’Veni vidi vici,’” she reads aloud, as fluent in the language as her own. Trevor perks an eyebrow at her, but Adrian finds himself caught off guard. How many languages did she know? _Brilliant girl,_ he admires her.

                “’I came, I saw, I conquered,’” he translates. “Latin. Common for a Belmont to know, I presume?”

                “No. I don’t know it,” Trevor shrugs and smooths the wrinkles from his shirt where the Belmont crest sits, right over his heart. “That knife is something I took from my family home after it was destroyed. Glad I finally know what that means. You have my gratitude, Alucard.”

                The smug grin Trevor flashes would have made Adrian weak if it had been on anyone else but a Belmont, especially not one like _him_. Regardless, the dhampir averts his eyes. He didn’t want to admit that the hunter was handsome, charming even. _In his own way._

                “You know Latin too, Alucard?” Sypha tilts her head back to meet his eyes as he stands behind her. Her radiant expression speaks of interest and a newfound respect. “It was never my favorite. I’m fluent in so many languages, but Latin is the one I can’t seem to get along with.” She laughs, a sweet giggle as soft as rain.

                “I cannot speak it, but I do read and write it quite fluently. You shouldn’t hate it though, you speak it beautifully. It’s been some time since I’ve seen it written anywhere outside of the castle walls. I assume it’s present in churches, though I can’t say I’ve been in one recently for obvious reasons. My father taught me history, language, how to fight, and my mother taught me math and science,” he answers. “To be fair, Latin isn’t fun to learn.”

                “Wait, wait. You said your father taught you language? As in Dracula taught you Latin?” Trevor questions, a slight, smug smile tugging at his lips. “ _Dracula_ taught you Latin, the holy language. You’re kidding.”

                “Your family may have seen my father as nothing other than a monster, but he is an incredibly intelligent man. His knowledge of this world is unparalleled, which is why he is such a dangerous foe,” the dhampir lowers himself onto the crate next to the Speaker. “But something about what he’s doing confuses me. I’m not quite sure what he hopes to gain from culling mankind. For a being like him, killing your entire food source… I’m afraid my father must have gone mad after all this time.”

                “Madness, surely,” Sypha speaks, setting the blade in Trevor’s outstretched hand. “This cull in the name of your mother is surely going to lead to his demise, whether we fail and he starves, or we win and he dies. What could that mean? If he’s so intelligent, he must see his end coming, right?”

                “I didn’t say he was a predictable man. My father has lived through so many eras, through so many leaders, wars, and mass genocides. What he’s doing is essentially killing himself and his kind and I’m sure he’s aware of that fact. Perhaps that’s his only true goal,” Adrian offers, tugging off his gloves and laying them over his lap. “The death of my mother may have given him some incentive to meet her in the afterlife.”

_Afterlife_. Heaven. Hell. Those were the real questions. Did they exist? Would his father even make it into Heaven if there is such a thing? Though he can sense Trevor’s itch to make some comment about where his father will go once he’s defeated, the hunter stays silent, watching the flame flickering within the lamp. Adrian can only hope that there is some sort of reunion after death, that perhaps his father will see his mother again. He loved her enough to start a war in her name, even if that was the last thing she would have wanted. If God is real, truly merciful, and forgiving, He would allow even cruel, wicked Dracula into His eternal embrace once death has claimed him.

                Sypha must have sensed something weighing heavy on Adrian, as she gingerly places a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder to shake him from his internal debate.

                “This must be difficult for you,” she begins, her understanding gaze easing his worried heart. “Though you know what you must do, don’t you? Trevor and I cannot do this alone.”

                “I do know. I’ve come to terms with it. It is either my father, or all of humanity, and I’ve made my decision,” Adrian looks away. He cannot bear to express his emotions much more in front of them. He doesn’t want to admit that the oncoming death of his father is bound to make something within him die alongside his family. “I must thank you though. Both of you. Accompanying me on a mission that could mean life or death… Aren’t either of you frightened of the power Dracula possesses? Of the army of demons he controls?”

                Sypha’s smile falters, only for a moment, before she forces her fear away with a wave of her hand. “A little,” she admits with a smirk, though the look in her eyes tells the full truth: she was _terrified_. Adrian cannot blame her; he couldn’t help remembering the deep gash left across his chest from his last interaction with his father. He wouldn’t let that happen to either of them; human lives are so fragile, so fleeting. He would ensure they survive even if it meant giving his own life. “But I believe in us, and in the legend. We three at least have a chance. Weren’t those your words?”

                “While we’re on the topic of this _mission_ ,” Trevor finally speaks up. “What is our plan? We can’t just stumble up to a teleporting castle home to one of the most powerful beings of all time and say ‘Oi Drac. Fuck off,’ then stab the guy. It’s a little more delicate than that, don’t you think? Do we even know where the castle is right now?”

                Sypha and Adrian exchange a look, the silence between all three of them deafening. There _is_ no plan, nor is there even a first step in the right direction.

                “Great,” Trevor rolls his eyes after a moment. “So I’m stuck with two 19-year-olds: a Speaker magician and the snooty son of Dracula while we wander the countryside aimlessly and get attacked by demons for God-only-knows how long-”

                “No one is forcing you to come with us, _Belmont_ ,” Adrian interrupts with a bit more venom to his tone than what he meant to use. “You voluntarily joined this party when you decided to tag along with us on this mission. If it’s this much of an inconvenience for you, you can fuck off to whatever tavern hovel you drunkenly stumbled out of. You’re only making this more frustrating than it needs to be, so insult us if you want, but do _you_ have any brilliant ideas as to what we could do first?”

                “…Actually, I do,” Trevor grins, amused with himself and the anger in the dhampir’s words. “The Belmont family hold is due west of here. It’s likely that there’s information on the castle there, but you can thank me when we get there. Let it be known that I never had any choice in coming on this little adventure though; she dragged me along.”

                “Then why didn’t you say that from the beginning instead of teasing us?” Sypha questions and Adrian can hear the tired irritation in her voice already, though he keeps his eyes to the dusty barn floor, knowing too well that his cheeks were now tinted red in embarrassment. _Could this hunter get any smugger and more insufferable? Why did he have to behave like this at any given opportunity?_

                “I wanted to see if either of you had any better ideas. It’s a long journey, and frankly, I don’t want to go back there,” his smile disappears with his playful disposition, and his brows knit together as some distant, indescribable emotion takes his features. “…I have my reasons.”

                “Fine. That’s where we set out to come sunrise,” Adrian curtly says. He stands, clutching his gloves in one white-knuckled fist as he swallows his anger and pride. He wasn’t going to let this hunter get the best of him. _Not now. Any time but now._ “I apologize that we’re making you return there, but what other choice do we have as of right now?”

                “I know we have no other option. Trust me, I know,” Trevor sighs and combs his fingers through his hair. “I’ll have time to get over it on the way there. What we’re doing is necessary and… And if we don’t do it, who will?”

                There was something very soft in his voice, some sort of sorrow or worry that he wasn’t hiding behind a street-hardened façade he tried so hard to maintain. He seemed to be letting down his walls, even for just a moment in front of them. A deep yearning within Adrian wanted to reach out to him, to rest a hand on his shoulder and offer him the support he’s been lacking since he was a child. His family was ripped away from him at such a young age, it was no wonder he had grown so bitter and distant from others. Perhaps he was only protecting himself from experiencing that loss again.

                Adrian relaxes, releasing a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “It’ll be alright, Belmont. We’ll try to make the trip quick so you’ll both have this out of the way.” The look Trevor returned to him was warm, a brief flash of a thankful smile crossing his expression. “But this does mean you both need to get some rest soon. You’ll need a lot of sleep for tomorrow’s journey.”

                “Aww,” Sypha protested, quite like a child herself. “Let’s sit and talk for a while. If this is the end, I at least want to know who I’ll be spending this time with. You’ll stay with us, won’t you?”

                He couldn’t say no to her, not with how her tone felt so welcoming and comforting. Silently, he yields and lowers himself back down onto the crate. She was just as charming, if not more so than the Belmont sitting forward to join in their conversation.

_These humans are dangerous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, if youre interested, follow your local goth boys twitter: @incubvsprince ! i retweet lots of art, video games, and castlevania stuff. i even have commissions up on my art twitter in my bio. thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for more! i'm writing this as i update it and frankly, i do not have a plan, but we will push forward. enjoy! ♥


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